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14 days ago
Current As an inside source I can confirm that doctors are in fact trained in methods of running away from people who eat an apple a day.
8 mos ago
Tyga's new album tho!
8 mos ago
Today is Monday. Meaning it's chest day bro. #swolenation #teampump #gains #grinding
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8 mos ago
Drake is my spirit animal.
8 mos ago
I'm hitting a squat PR today! I'm hitting a squat PR today!!


A coffee addict that can't find enough coffee.

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We understand, it's good fam, take your time! A little bit of an extra wait never hurt anybody
Welcome to the forums!
Just got mine in, eyyyy!
Things went to shit real fast.

He was surrounded by the undead and just then noticed the small wound on his right shoulder when the older elf spoke behind him; Eovaine momentarily turned to grin at him before pressing the corpses. "Clearly underestimated these bastards," he said above the clamour of fighting and groaning. He was going to say more when barrage of sorcery was flung towards him, suddenly being deflected moments from hitting him.

Cursing, he shifted course and started cutting his way towards the cultists, briefly noting the way the gnoll smashed into them which in some small amount broke the summoner's connection with the undead. It was enough. His swords carved a path through them and just when he was about to break clear, a massive pillar of fire erupted. And from its billowing smoke emerged a monstrosity which immediately charged the gnoll and lifted him off his feet into a nearby building.

He was thinking of flanking around the beast, going through its potential blindspot to reach the cultists when an Ariel suddenly perched on top of its shoulders and caused some sort of acoustic blast from its swords towards the cultists. With the monstrosity distracted and the cultists potentially disoriented, Eovaine broke through the line of corpses and charged one of the remaining cultists, his swords seeking to cut off one of the legs followed by disembowling his opponent.
Sorry guys, my Internet went to shit for tye past week and it still isn't really all that good. I'll try to get a post in tho within the next 2 days still.
@Life in Stasis Gotta say thanks for getting Roth to have my back. Hopefully this causes whatever plans Nariata had for my character to go awry xD
Oh snap, have fun there fam!
"Shame," Eovaine shrugged at the man's response and turned to look at the assortment of figures within. The first of which he noticed was the gnoll. A bloody gnoll. Here. It was unusual and more than a little disconcerting. Savage, brutish. The only good thing he could see of that beast was the fact that it'd gladly meet the brunt force of whatever they'd have to face with equal or perhaps even more brutish savagery. And it wasn't just the gnoll that was like that, he'd known humans that could hold their own against gnolls and something about them, all these large bastards, was their insane need to attract as much swords as possible in their direction.

Stifling a shudder, he looked away from the gnoll and noticed the other patrons around as he subconsciously grabbed a tankard of brandy and drank. There was another elf present wearing a mask and some oversized claok and he got the distinct impression he was trying to pass off as a human. Couldn't be it, though. Perhaps trying to hide some sort of frailty. He shrugged internally, at least he wasn't the only elf around.

Then there was a priestess. That, out of all of them, shocked him the most. The innocence flowed out of her like a massive beacon, an aura of pureness that he knew their dark world would snuff out, and he hoped, somewhat desperately, that it wouldn't come to pass until after this mess was over with. Still, she didn't belong here, and if the insane mage truly intended to seek out his staff, she'd only be a hindrance to them, a burden that would weigh on all those with a heart in this fucked group. She was like the physical manifestation of all the good within them, stolen away and bundled up within a human girl and placed within their midst, smiling sweetly in the face of the monster that was their dark world, full of innocence and naivety. Her fall from grace, an eventuality that was almost certain, would doom them all. By simply being here she had guaranteed their deaths. More of the good within them than physically, but what was the difference? The only thing he could do was delay her demise as long as possible. More for his own sanity, he had to admit, than her own good.

He looked away, his face twisting to mimic the sorrow he felt inside. They were all fucked and this damn rambling mage had doomed them. All for some glorious, desperate final attempt at a fabled weapon that might not even exist. He should've followed that sergeant's advice and joined the military. Perhaps that would have had better for him, but he was dead anyway, so what difference did it make? Almost a century and a half of life and it was going to end following a plan that might not even work. Well, at least it would be interesting.

Especially since the dead seemed to be rising.

If anything, these fucking cultists knew how to make an entrance. He finished the rest of his brandy and threw his empty tankard at an undead's head, stood up and looked at the wizard with a grin. "Looks like you've successfully managed to annoy the dead with your ramblings, Mage." He unsheathed his swords and followed the massive human out of the tavern into a red sky and a scene of pure horror. In the distance, far to the north, he saw a squad of cultists approaching and the behemoth that was the gnoll rushing them, bulling his through the undead, his arms swinging to lop off multiple heads at a time.

Eovaine couldn't help but feel the cultists managed to track him. It didn't make sense, he knew, but the feeling was there, a small doubt in his mind. And that feeling grew to become horror. What if beyond this decrepit bazaar a company of cultists and whatever else was camped and these bastards were just scouts. Well shit. If they were, he wouldn't die by their hands. He'd face that fucking army grinning like the mad bastard he was. And with that he rushed in, his swords swinging in a frenzy as they slew undead after undead and it wasn't long until a small pile grew behind him of headless, immobile bodies. But the further he went, he noticed the bastards were becoming more and more sophisticated. More effort was suddenly put into parrying or sidestepping brutish swings rather than brazenly lopping off heads.

It got to a point where killing them came to halt and he was left parrying and dodging, although not difficult, their sheer numbers threatened to flank him and so he backed off, his swords dripping with blood and gore. He needed someone to support his flank, otherwise he'd be stuck there until he was eventually overrun.
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